


Supply Lists

by junojelli



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Easy Company in Austria, F/M, Post-Coital, Ron Speirs being a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 14:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20065687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junojelli/pseuds/junojelli
Summary: ‘How long is this gonna take you?’God, he just knew which of your buttons to press. You mock rolled your eyes at him, catching his smirk as he took another drag of his cigarette.‘An hour, possibly more if you keep sitting over there in my line of sight, looking like that.’Captain Ronald Speirs is a tease, and is making it very difficult for the annotated supply lists to be finished on time. Particularly when he insists on walking around your room stark naked.





	Supply Lists

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warmommy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmommy/gifts).

> Please keep in mind everything you see here is about the fictional portrayal of characters in HBO war miniseries and their actors, not the historical figures themselves, with no disrespect intended towards them or their legacy.
> 
> Written for the fantastic warmommy, whose friendship and fics give me life.

Captain Ronald Speirs did not give two shits. You shot a half-hearted glare at him from where you sat at the desk, trying to work through the updated supply lists that needed to be back with the regimental supply officer by 0000. He was being no help at all. He just sat there, leaning against the headboard of your bed, hair ruffled, and smoking _your_ pack of cigarettes, even though his were in his shirt pocket on the floor. The man was still bollock-naked, he didn’t even bother to cover himself with the bedsheet. He just sat there, looking like the epitome of sex itself; a teasing reminder of what you had been doing minutes before.

He puffs out a plume of smoke between his full lips and looks over to you, his eyes still dark and hooded.

‘How long is this gonna take you?’

God, he just knew which of your buttons to press. You mock rolled your eyes at him, catching his smirk as he took another drag of his cigarette.

‘An hour, possibly more if you keep sitting over there in my line of sight, looking like that.’

The bastard let the dirtiest grin grow on his face, before reaching over and extinguishing his spent cigarette on the floral wallpaper next to bedside table. A perfectly functional and empty ashtray lay unused right beside him.

‘Oh, I’ll move out of the _lady’s_ sight then, since the state of my being offends her.’

You scoffed, trying to turn your attention back to the annotated supply list. If you had bothered to do this mid-afternoon, it should have taken you half hour or perhaps an hour if you were being particularly diligent (and who could be arsed for a supply list that would be annotated and re-typed _again_ before the week was done?). Yet trying to focus now with your head foggy with post-coital hormones and _him_ still in the room, it was likely going to take the rest of the evening. You could hear him shuffling around behind you; the clink of ice falling into a crystal tumbler on the table and the slosh and glug of whiskey into the glass. You rubbed your eyes with the heel of your palms, and wound in a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter. If you just stuck at it and didn’t get distracted, didn’t look to see what he was dong, if he was getting dressed, if he was pinching more your things, if he was going to discretely leave your room, if he was still naked, if he was reading your personal letters from home- _stop it._ FOCUS.

You willed your fingers into position on the keyboard and started to type, enjoying the tick of the blocks hitting the page and the ‘_ping!’ _at the end of each successful typed line completed. Feeling his eyes burning into you, you managed to resist the urge to look back at him for another line and a half. He was just stood there off to your side, leaning against the balcony door frame watching you work with his drink in one hand. He was _still_ naked, his cock just half hard taunting you whilst you worked.

‘Christ Ron, can you please go sit in another room or something? I can’t concentrate with you around.’

A dark chuckle rumbled up from his chest as he stalked over to your desk, and deposited the tumbler next to the scrunched up old sheets you had transcribed. A rough finger stroked a piece of wayward hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear, before tracing your jawline and tilting your face up to him. He was surprisingly tender, Ron. Few would believe it if you told them. The man worked hard to maintain his infamous reputation after all, but that did not mean he was without feelings. You (and perhaps Carwood; maybe Dick) were one of the few people who Ron let behind his defences and into his heart. You knew how much he cared, how much he felt, and it was much more than anyone could possibly imagine.

‘Sure, darling. But I want a kiss first.’

He was already leaning down, his fingers threading into your hair and thumb stroking your jawline. The kiss was sweet and soft, nothing at all like the bruising kisses he had given you the hour before when he had stripped you of your uniform and practically threw you on the bed in his desperation. Reluctantly pulling away, he kissed you once more on the forehead and stroked your hair before seemingly disappearing in the direction of the small lounge area attached to your bedroom.

Focusing yourself once more without his distraction, your fingers danced across the keys, making relatively short work of the task at hand. The sun sank behind the mountains at the far end of the Zell lake, leaving you to work by the glow of the small lamp in the corner of the room and the rosy hue of the summer evening filtering through the window. You could hear the bubbling hubbub of soldiers heading off into town for the evening, glad that the war in Europe was over, but ignoring the ever-present threat of redeployment to the Pacific. At least here in Austria they could all remember that they were young men, and back home they would similarly have been descending upon the bars in town for drink and the chance to flirt with any obliging young women.

Your work nearly complete, your concentration is broken by the yelling of several familiar voices from the street right below your balcony.

‘Captain Speirs, Sir!’

‘Did you get lucky then, sir?’

‘Ohoho of course he did, you do _know_ whose balcony he’s on, don’t you?!’

‘Oh my god, he actually did it.’

The shouts of the Easy Company Toccoa men (already slightly drunk, by the sound of it) directed at their CO snapped your attention to your balcony. Ron, that _fucker_, was lounging against the balcony railing smoking and only wearing the goddamned stained bedsheet wrapped around his waist. He was grinning, actually smiling and looking down at them, practically egging them on to keep shouting and making a scene. _He _knew that _they_ knew it was your balcony, and his presence on it in his current state of undress just confirmed the rumours that had been spreading throughout the Company for weeks now. The whole of Second Battalion would know for certain by the end of the evening, and you could expect an incredibly awkward meeting with Dick by tomorrow lunchtime with regard to the non-fraternisation policy.

‘Have a good night, men.’ He stated as he smugly waved them off, flicking the stub of his cigarette over the balcony down to the street below. The men all cheered in unison and jostled each other; you could hear a chorus of ‘well, _he’s_having a good night’, ‘lucky bastard’, ‘it’s _always _the officers’ and ‘Goddammit Luz, I’ll give you the twenty bucks tomorrow I need it for drinks’ as they made their way in the direction of the lake.

Ron sauntered back in and leaned against the door frame as he had previously, looking like some modern American Adonis, with the biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

‘Uh…how long were you standing there?’

‘Long enough for most of them to see.’ Mischief danced in his dark eyes as he thumbed the signet ring he had lifted from the Eagle’s Nest on his finger.

‘Do you not care that we’re going to get reprimanded for this?’ He just smiled at you, his pupils dilating as he folded his arms over his chest and looked your body up and down as you made your way over to him to shove him.

“Don’t you dare give me those sex eyes right now! This is a serious situation, Ron!” you hissed at him. He allowed you one shove, before he unfolded his arms and gently held your waist, stilling you from your frustration.

‘It is a serious situation.’ He leaned down to you, his forehead resting on your own as he looked into your eyes. ‘I don’t want any of the men thinking they can make any passes at Mrs Speirs now; I couldn’t allow that.’


End file.
